


DA036: A Thief in the Bush

by Rhion



Series: KMEME Prompts [3]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nesrie Surana was his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DA036: A Thief in the Bush

**Author's Note:**

> Ninja needed cheering up one day. This resulted. There’s no “actual” kinks, just fairly vanilla sex when it happens. Vaginal and oral, no real “fun” positions or anything. This Zevran _is_ a bit of a creep though. He’s supposed to be. It was requested.
> 
> TRIGGERS: Mild stalking, slightly dubious consent, voyeurism.

He had said the sorts of things women liked to hear. He had been attentive, as he knew that was what women wanted. Women were just marks and contracts that hadn’t been taken out - yet. Zevran knew how to act the part, how to be polite, affable, and warm. It was what allowed him to get close enough to kill. And what allowed him to slip away from his deeds with nary a ripple or pointed fingers of accusation. 

But as to what to do when the target, the goal he wished to achieve, was more...prolonged and didn’t involve death or at least an end of a contract, left him vaguely at a loss. Zevran wasn’t exactly equipped for this long exposure to those not of his own kind. Not elves or _shems_ , those he could deal with. No, he wasn’t used to handling constant, day to day affairs with non-Crows without pause. A Crow would understand that he required solitude to re-apply the mask of warmth and polite society. 

He was a killer.

He was a whore.

He was a cheat and ruffian.

He might as well be emotionless, no matter the act he put on for the benefit of others.

Nesrie Surana, on the other hand, was quiet and unreceptive to his words and deeds. She was seemingly unaware of the wolf in the fold. Each time he showered her with compliments she would only stare at him blankly before changing the subject to something practical. Zevran found it almost...frustrating. To be thwarted at every turn was actually arousing to some degree. It caused him to constantly wonder what Nesrie would taste like, would feel like under him. 

She had become a target in truth, far more than a mere contract. Zevran wanted her, and he would have her. Nesrie would be his, no matter what he had to do. He was more than willing to kill to get what he wanted, was equipped to do so, and refused to be defeated in his desires.

XXX

Nesrie hadn’t noticed him following her, but why would she? He was stealthed, and she was a mage, unused to being aware that someone was nearby. Zevran didn’t like that inattention, it left her open to attack. And he felt he must ensure her safety whenever she was alone. So, he followed on silent feet, not disturbing any twigs as he went along. 

After a short distance, the mage came to a stop by the hot pool that had recommended their camping spot to Bodahn. Zevran was unsure if the sensuality of Nesrie’s motions was intentional, as if she somehow knew he was nearby and would be watching, however, her every movement was slow and graceful. Hair was released from its ever-present bun, the red lockes cascading down farther than one would expect. Zevran was always amazed at how the sheaf of hair would spill down around her shoulders, hanging to the small of her back on the occasions it was freed. Next came the unfastening of her outer robe, which she folded neatly, then she began laying her borrowed leggings atop the robe, followed by her tunic, also borrowed. 

She and Zevran were nowhere near of a size, however, he had extra clothes and had donated them to her once he realized that under her mage robes, she wore nothing. That was an enticing thought in of itself, but he knew how harsh walking long hours could be on delicate flesh. The Warden was delicate indeed, her skin so pale it shone, never having been exposed much to the outside world and its day to day rigors. So, Zevran had put some of his spare clothes in her pack one night, in hopes of earning goodwill from her. The next day she had asked around until she came to him, and he had been pleased when she thanked him, but not so pleased when she tried to give them back. Eventually, after repeatedly entering her tent to place the clothes in her pack, Nesrie had finally given in and stopped trying to return them.

Licking his lips, the Crow scrambled like a squirrel to a perch in the tree, familiar and comfortable with such climbing. He wanted a better view of Nesrie as the last scraps of clothing were set aside. The diffuse, filtered light of the setting sun caused Nesrie to glow faintly, and his body stirred in response. Water lapped around her feet as she walked into the pool and knelt, splashing herself and rubbing sand over her skin, leaving Zevran’s flexing manhood in need of adjustment in his now too tight trews. Allowing his hand to linger, he rubbed at his erection while Nesrie bathed, mostly unaware of his presence. From time to time, she would look about, a puzzled frown on her finely wrought features, as though she could feel his eyes on her. It was an idea that made his hand slip beneath the waistband of his pants and begin massaging his heat in earnest, the thought that she was attuned to him just enough to know he was near, spurring him on towards completion.

XXX

Ferelden had few blooms that Zevran could admire - there was little in the way of wildflowers, which was unlike Antiva. Flowers and other beautiful, natural things were abundant in his homeland, but Ferelden had little more than trees and bushes. He had been irritated to see that the only flowers were those of a poisonous nature. Yet oleander, foxglove and wolfsbane were beautiful and plentiful. Once he had woven a wreath of the flowers, he found himself more pleased than he had believed he would be. A product of his skills and knowledge to display to Nesrie should be well received.

However, if that failed, some of the large birds did have beautiful plumage, and he was skilled enough with a bow to bring enough down to make her a cloak of feathers if need be. For the time being he was content to place her clean laundry in her pack and lay the wreath atop it. Making himself comfortable in the space beside her pallet, Zevran watched her sleep, from time to time reaching out to lay his hand across her forehead whenever it furrowed in dark dreams. Eventually, he stretched out and pillowed his head upon his folded arm and dozed off watching Nesrie sleep.

Awakening before dawn’s light had brushed the sky, Zevran proceeded to lay out a fresh change of clothes for Nesrie and quickly repacked her belongings, leaving nothing but her pallet and tent in need of stowing. Next, he exited quietly so as to not disturb her or agitate her massive hound who rested outside the tent. The others were beginning to rise, setting about their various wake up rituals, while he moved to the fire and set a small breakfast to cook of oats and a few berries that he had dried after gathering them from bushes during their trek.

“Good morning Zevran,” Wynne said coming close, her dusty paper and lavender scent washing over him as she sat. “It is rather thoughtful that you make Nesrie her breakfast each morning, but why not make enough for everyone?”

Casting a glance her way, he shrugged. “It is not you I am beholden to, my dear Wynne. Besides, you are more used to traveling than fair Nesrie. If I can make her life simpler by ensuring she has a good meal to start the day, then I will. Unlike her, you rarely seem put off by the trail rations we eat in the main, so for her, I prepare something more...appetizing.”

Turning his gaze away to hide his irritation, Zevran doubted she picked up his undercurrent of distaste. It was true that Wynne ate well enough, and unlike Nesrie, she hadn’t lost any weight from the long hours on the road. In fact, she had seemed to have gained some. 

“I think it’s sweet, but really, Zevran, surely you know that you’re welcome here by now and don’t need to earn anything?” Leliana smiled warmly as she opened the grain sack and began to heat a stone while mixing the oats with water to make griddle cakes. 

He only responded with an enigmatic smile, “There are more things in this world to earn than simply a place.”

Wynne sighed accepting one of the first cakes that was finished. “Oh leave it, it’s just one of those things he’s going to persist in.”

XXX

Nesrie shot a blast of flame at the wolf he was fighting, and Zevran had to dance aside, laughing joyfully as the animal exploded into a cloud of ash. Whirling on one foot, he saw two more wolves aiming directly at Nesrie, one was near to hamstringing her, and with a snarl he dove forward, shouldering the beast aside. Leg whipping out, he kicked the second in its snapping jaws, sending it nose over tail, gutting it during its tumble. 

Sudden pressure on his forearm broke through the leather of his vambrace, and Zevran punched a dagger clutching fist into the second wolf’s face. Baring his teeth at the creature, Zevran fell atop it, rolling to dislodge the wolf. He felt a tooth sink in and snap off in his flesh, and claws raked his thighs, seeking leverage in a mad attempt to disembowel him. Dropping his dagger and sword, Zevran kept his weight firmly on the wolf’s body, one hand now free to worm up to the throat and smash the animal’s windpipe. A strangled, guttural yip, and finally he was released. 

Lunging up from the ground he noted an upwelling of power sent in his direction, Nesrie casting him a faint, grateful smile. Pain receded under the healing spell and Zevran grinned at Nesrie warmly as he recovered his weapons, shadowing her towards the other end of the fight. Later, once the horde of beasts was dealt with, Zevran pried the tooth from his forearm, presenting himself forthwith to Nesrie for another healing.

“Oh, I thought I took care of that,” mumbling as she leaned over his arm, holding the bloody and torn appendage in her hands.

“The tooth was still embedded,” he explained. “I had to pull it out, as I am not overly fond of teeth digging into me constantly. Or, at least not a wolf’s teeth. A lovely woman’s, on the other hand, I must say I would be most fond of that.”

Nesrie shot him a perplexed look, even as magic burned in the wound, soothing the frayed nerve endings. “Why would someone bite you?”

“Because it can be rather enjoyable,” mouth curling into a lazy smile at her. Catching her hand before she could pull away now that her work was done, Zevran placed the scavenged tooth in her palm, wrapping her fingers around it. “As a reminder,” lifting up her hand, he pressed a kiss on her knuckles, giving her a wink as he did so.

XXX

Earlier he had heard Leliana flirting with Nesrie, and while in general Zevran found the bard agreeable, at this particular time she was a pest and intrusion. Such distracting behavior was not to be permitted, and any interference must promptly be discouraged. Nesrie was going to be his, and he would not tolerate some upstart, Orlesian, perfumed whore usurping his place and undoing all his hard work. 

Noting when she left to go find a bath for herself and do a little laundry, Zevran snuck into her tent, finding her precious lute. If she was too busy fawning and crying over the damage to the instrument, she would be too distracted with repairing it to bother Nesrie. Slipping the oiled and waxed leather case open, he poured the concoction of salt water and vinegar into the opening in the fat lute. It wasn’t anything particularly vicious, and if she caught the waterlogging soon enough, the lute could be repaired and saved. 

After all, he did like Leliana well enough, no need to do anything too cruel to her.

Later he was whistling a jaunty tune while on watch, Nesrie beside him.

“Why do you whistle so much?” she turned large blue eyes on him. 

Pausing, Zevran thought about it. “A silent assassin is up to something. One making noise is usually being polite.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” nodding as she tapped her chin, sitting beside him, their backs to the fire so as not to be light blinded. “So, what’s Antiva like?” a rose twirled in her fingers as she looked to him.

“It is warm, and beautiful,” answering simply. Reaching out he touched the pretty bloom. “I have not seen any roses of late, where did you get this?”

Nesrie looked down at it, a vaguely uncomfortable expression on her face. “Alistair said he got it in Lothering. He gave it to me.”

Suppressing a twitch at that information, Zevran smiled. “How _nice_.”

No mention was made of the flowers he had picked for her or the wolf’s tooth he had given her. Probably because she had been distracted by the tall _shem_. Alistair was a person he didn’t care for in particular, knowing the young man for the threat he was. Something sterner than water in a lute. He knew just the thing...

XXX

Nesrie came to him as he was looking over his supply of poisons. Setting them aside promptly, he nodded his greeting. “Is there aught I can do for you, my lovely Nesrie?”

“Zevran, I need your advice,” she plopped down beside him. 

A thrill of pleasure shot through him like a bolt. Nesrie wanted his advice, nay, needed it. That meant only one thing; she was finally beginning to respond to his many advances. Victory was all but assured.

Pasting on an open and helpful smile, Zevran cocked his head. “Oh? I am all ears. How may I be assistance?”

“Alistair must have eaten something bad, and he’s been ill for two days now,” shaking her head in aggravation. “Near as I can figure from the symptoms, it must have been poison and not just a simple case of stomach flux. No one else has contracted it, just him. You know so much about poisonous things, I thought maybe you might know what we could use to counter it?”

Feeling the smile wish to slide from his face, Zevran forced himself to keep it in place. “Of course, tell me the symptoms and I can probably devise a suitable antidote. Frequently the cure is not much better than the illness, however.”

But because Nesrie was asking him, Zevran quickly made a show of his knowledge and supplied her with an antidote that would remove the toxins he had been adding to Alistair’s waterskin. Her smile for him was glorious and buoyed him until it was time to slip into her tent for the night. It was comforting to know that she felt relaxed enough with him to seek him out for something when she didn’t know a treatment. Even more so, it was wonderful that she had asked for his help, rather than just demanding it. Being asked for something was unfamiliar and pleasing to Zevran, only reaffirming that his decision to seek her attentions was a wise one.

XXX

Zevran whipped the bow from his shoulders, spying a pheasant take wing. Less than a breath had passed between the sound of the bird taking flight and an arrow speeding from his bow to slam into the fowl. Around him were startled sounds, but he loped off to the area the pheasant had fallen. With a happy grin he returned, the hapless bird still spitted on the arrow. While pheasants made good meals, the birds’ plumage was actually quite extraordinary. It was for the latter reason primarily that he had shot it down, but for the midday repast it would serve a dual purpose.

Nesrie stared curiously at his prize as he presented it. “I saw this pheasant and thought it was quite lovely.” Fingering one of the longer feathers, he yanked it free, holding it out to her, “I killed it for you. The feathers would look particularly beautiful in your hair.”

Alistair made a sound of disgust, “Oh, ugh. Really? _Really_? Oh, Maker’s breath, Zevran, that’s grotesque. She’s not going to put that in her hair, right? Right?”

Zevran felt the carefree smile begin to slip at Alistair’s words, but Nesrie took the gift cautiously. “The feather is pretty. Thank you, Zev.”

Beaming afresh, Zevran dipped a fast bow. “You are quite welcome, my lovely Nesrie.”

“Ock, now we’re puttin’ feathers in our hair like dancin’ whores, eh Warden?” Oghren growled. “I’d rather put somethin’ else in your hair, hurr, hurr, hurr,” and let out a thunderous belch, followed by a foul round of flatulence.

To call Nesrie a whore was tantamount to a declaration of war to Zevran’s way of thinking. There was a special place in the Pit for someone who would say such a thing, and to follow it up with such a set of actions... Zevran would not tolerate it, particularly because Nesrie went faintly green around the edges as the cloud hit her. Using his free hand, he tugged her away from the disgusting dwarf, the action a reflexive thing, as he stepped in front of her, as though he could block the stench as he would a blow.

There was a soft choking cough behind him, and he felt Nesrie waving a hand before her face. “Oh, now that’s gross! Oghren, must you? Once or twice a mile is funny, but right now? Ohhh!”

That did it, and Zevran vowed to find a suitably brutal punishment for Oghren. A wicked smile lit his face up, as he thought perhaps a week or five of sobriety would do the trick. Zevran had a very _strong_ purgative he could put in all of Oghren’s various brews, causing the dwarf to ‘release’ from both ends and all fonts in such force he would be required to abstain from alcohol. Perhaps the effect could even cause a permanent behavioral change. Zevran wouldn’t be holding high hopes for that, but he would certainly continue to hold his breath as he backed Nesrie away from the noisome cloud.

XXX

At dinner Nesrie had given him a particularly kind smile when he presented the pheasant that he had decided to save for their evening meal so he could pay it proper attention. He had roasted it over the coals with some wild tubers and green onion. It had made the piece of him that wanted her all to himself, the part that would do anything to make her laugh or feel safe, swell up with pride. So, with puffed chest, he had proudly given her the plate of food and took the proffered place beside her to join her in the meal.

He had also given her more of the most beautiful feathers, and while she was eating, took her hair down. Nesrie had been surprised, jerking under the familiar touch, but Zevran had only smiled motioning for her to continue her meal as he worked. Even now the feathers were still in her hair, the braids he had plaited and woven this way and that lending the mage a wild appearance. 

Her large mabari was still distracted and contented with the bone Zevran had given the beast, as he always had some small treat for the hound, and Zevran finished slipping into the Warden’s tent. Checking the ties, he smiled faintly at Nesrie’s sleeping form, the wild braids mixed with the feathers and loose hair spreading over her like a blood red magical pool. He took it as a most promising sign that she hadn’t removed his gifts, and he even had noted that in her belongings was the tooth he had yanked from his forearm weeks ago. Also, the bits of metal or stone or wood weapons that had broken off in him as well had joined a mounting pile in her pack. There had even been the dried, crumbled remnants of the flower wreath he had given her wrapped in wax paper, so even though she hadn’t mentioned the gift, she had kept it. 

Tugging off his boots, which had been the second most precious gift Nesrie had given him, Zevran began making himself comfortable. Truly, it should not be so strange he felt, for her to awaken with him beside her this time. They may as well both be comfortable. Leaning down, he lay a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, not the first time he had dared such action, but it was no less thrilling this time as it had been the first. With deft, careful fingers, he divested them both of clothes, taking great pains to not awaken Nesrie from precious slumber. After all, her sleep was so often troubled, he had wound up keeping watch for much of his evenings to do what he could to chase off whatever haunted her sleep. He had no wish to add to her lack of sleep, at least, not this night. So, he crawled beneath her covers, repressing the shudder of pleasure that came as their bodies touched for the first time. There would be opportunities for that another night. Tonight was merely about being close and sharing this intimacy.

XXX

Until Nesrie, Zevran had never slept in the same space as another person. He had never had the desire to. And while he didn’t sleep long, he had found that in her presence, he slept well. Last night was no different. Or, actually, it was. With Nesrie in his arms, pressed close, he had gained the most peaceful, deep sleep of his life. But her quiet, soft shifting against him woke him up, and he could tell she was on the verge of entering the land of wakefulness. Quickly he neatened his hair and knuckled the sleep from his eyes, checking his breath too, to make sure it wasn’t too odious. With a little scooting and shifting, he snuggled down in their pallet so Nesrie and he were almost nose to nose, and his hand was resting gently upon her hip.

Lashes fluttered and there was a tiny yawn, almost like a kitten upon waking, blue eyes flashing open before closing. Zevran leaned in, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers, his leg finding its way to hook around one of Nesrie’s so he could feel her close. The blue eyes popped open in surprise, as if she hadn’t quite realized she wasn’t alone.

The scent of ozone began to fill the air, but recognition doused it, and Nesrie’s brow furrowed. “Zevran? Why are you in my bed?”

Giving her bare hip a squeeze, Zevran pulled her closer. “I was lonely, and I prefer your company to any other’s.”

She seemed to mull that over a moment. “Oh. And...um...why are you naked?”

“Sleeping in clothes makes no sense. It only makes them dirtier,” shrugging. “Plus, it is uncomfortable.”

Nesrie’s squirming did all sorts of delightful things to him, “Why am I naked too?”

Zevran thought that should be obvious, however, he supplied, “To put us on even footing. That way we are in the same state and are equals.”

There was a long pause, her pale features scrunching this way and that, and the warmth of her skin against his made him positively ache. “...I think...that might make sense?” They were quiet, and Zevran settled down, his hand moving from her hip to the small of her back, running his fingers along the dip. “So, are you the one who keeps coming into my tent?”

His eyes had closed, and he hummed, “Yes.”

“Why?” the confusion in her voice broke through to him.

So, Zevran sought an answer and method to explain to her as best he could. “Because I like to watch you sleep, and you seem to ease out of nightmares more if I touch you.”

The surprise on her face softened, making Zevran want nothing more than to suck her plump bottom lip into his mouth and lick it until she moaned. “Thank you. But...when do you sleep?”

Shrugging, he nuzzled at her face, giving in to the urge just a little, and placed a soft kiss to her lips. “Once you are fully settled, I sleep just outside of your bed.”

"I don't understand?" Nesrie half-asked, half said, though as yet she had not pulled away. 

Chuckling at her supposed lack of understanding, "Warden, come now, do not play. You should surely be aware of how attractive you are. We are both creatures of needs. Why ignore it? It need not be complicated. Or it can be as complicated as you wish it. I am open to anything you desire."

“What is it you want from me?” Nesrie’s voice prompted him.

Zevran thought about it for a moment, quite seriously. What was it he wanted from Nesrie? _Precisely_ what was it he wanted? Love was a fairly foreign subject, he knew the words, he had observed the actions of those who said what love was... So, perhaps he wanted that. Or perhaps he just wanted Nesrie. He wasn’t entirely sure. 

“I want you,” going for the simplest answer to fit his desires.

“Oh...right now?” propping up on an elbow.

Zevran could go with that, “right now” sounded quite good. Of course, he wanted something more along the lines of “always,” which sounded even better. He just wasn’t certain how to say that. 

So, he settled for a nod and finally gave in to his desire to kiss her in full. Nesrie gave a surprised little flinch, but she didn’t tell him to stop or push him away. But neither did she lean in and open herself to him. Zevran withheld the growl that wished to bubble up and instead suckled on her bottom lip as he had so often fantasized about. Strange that just a raspberry and bee-stung little thing could taunt and entice him so. Licking at the soft bit of flesh and flattening his palm over the small of her back, Zevran smiled as he heard a faint, breathy moan. 

Rolling partially atop her, Zevran cupped her cheek, resting his forehead against hers and looked into her eyes. “Tell me you want this.”

The hint of uncertainty in Nesrie’s expression gave him pause, “It’s been so long....”

Kissing her again, keeping it light, keeping it gentle, Zevran also made it exploratory. He wanted her, but he also didn’t want to chase her away. The taste of sleep overlay something that was all her and all mage. He should be worried that whatever that taste was would become a new addiction, but he didn’t care. 

With a groan, he broke away and tucked his face into her throat to gather his breath. “You need not be alone longer. I am here.”

Hands moved to his shoulders, and Zevran braced for her to push him away. Instead they pulled him closer, and he nearly crowed his triumph when Nesrie’s mouth sought his. Experience was telling, and while she didn’t fumble, there was no particular skill or art in her kiss. That was alright, he would teach her. Besides, it was Nesrie kissing him. 

Taking that as all the permission he needed, Zevran blazed a trail over her skin. Each touch elicited a sound, be it sigh, whimper, or moan; it was all music. Nuzzling at the underside of a breast, Zevran licked the seam of flesh there, tasting the hint of salt from sleep sweat. Hands were in his hair, and when he blew hot breath over her belly, his fingers lightly touching along her sides, Nesrie let out a startled giggle, which made him smile. There was something about her bellybutton he liked. He wasn’t aware of what it was, just that he felt it needed much attention. So he nipped and kissed around it, occasionally dipping his tongue into the indent, his hands busy moving down her legs and parting them so he could lay between them. No matter the squirming and giggling Nesrie did, Zevran wouldn’t be swayed from his course and once his mouth met her sex the young mage stilled, stifling a gasp of shock.

“What...what are you...?” fingers flexed against his scalp while he probed Nesrie’s womanhood with his tongue.

Holding her hips down with his forearm, Zevran paused long enough to spread her with the fingers of his other hand. “Kissing you,” replying with a wicked smile and doing just that.

“But...” he cut the word off with a swirl of his tongue over the soft peak of nerves and teased it gently with his lips.

Musk and salt and that particular strange current and snap that spoke “mage” and “Nesrie” filled his senses. He ignored her occasional embarrassed protest, growling hungrily whenever she sought to pull free. Zevran was going to have her, she had said she wanted him, and he was not so rude or lazy as to not see her to full arousal that he could be dissuaded. Besides, he had dreamed long and hard about this, about tickling the tender flesh of her sex, about smelling the particular tang that women had. He had craved the knowledge of just what Nesrie would taste and smell like, not just feel or look. He felt when she finally gave in, the curled tension of her spine going lax, the hands in his hair no longer tugging him away, and the changed sounds she was now making.

There was a shudder, and Nesrie’s entire body locked up as Zevran felt the rush of her orgasm wash his lips, desire surging through him with a roar at the sensation. Not that he hadn’t been aroused before, but the feeling of Nesrie caving, rocking against his mouth and hands, the almost clover taste of her orgasm left him struggling not to simply yank her further down so he could bury himself in her tightness. Instead, he scooted slowly upwards, following the same path to her mouth that he had taken to reach her sex. 

Once he had captured her mouth, Zevran worked himself into her tight body slowly, rolling his hips while Nesrie’s fingers dug with bruising force into his shoulders. Groaning in his delight, he pushed deeper against the clasping of her muscles, until her knees came up, spreading her legs further. With a grunt, he was pulled all the way in, forcing Nesrie to release a breathy gasp. Denying his body’s urges, the Antivan set to pleasuring them both, coaxing ecstasy from not just their joined parts, but from every inch of skin contact. 

XXX

“I had forgotten what completion felt like,” Sten’s voice was gravel and cracking stone as he looked over the beastly sword Nesrie had returned. “You have my thanks, kadan.”

Zevran was all for buying and assuring the others’ loyalty, it was just a matter of course. But that word ‘kadan’. He knew what that meant. His Qun’ari was a bit spotty, but all Crows had to go through a barrage of language courses - Common, Tevinter, Rivainian, Qun’ari, Orlesian - though not all of them could speak all those languages. Zevran could speak most of them though, or at the least understand them rather well. ‘Kadan’ - ‘kadan’ was a dangerous word. One that shouldn’t be applied to Nesrie.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. 

_Zevran_ could use it for her, along with _amante_ , or _mi cielo_ , or other such endearments. Sten could not, should not. Yet he was.

“What’s ‘kadan’ mean, Sten?” 

“Where the heart resides,” the answer simple, and something that had Zevran already plotting what to do to be rid of the big Kossith.

He didn’t pause in his grooming of the great mabari, his smile didn’t flicker or change, but he was already searching for a suitable way to keep Sten’s focus...elsewhere. And not on _his_ Warden. Qun’ari after all bred for careful, selective, traits, many of which Nesrie had. Who knew if it were possible for the Kossith to petition to mix with an elven Warden? Who knew for sure just how their programs ran? No, he would keep Sten busy, looking elsewhere, in hopes of dissuading him from something so foolish. Because if the Arishok or the Tamassrans or whomever was in control of such selections gave it the go ahead, then that put Nesrie at risk of being kidnapped. 

Shifting as he leaned down to clip one of the hound’s nails that was split, the buckle of his belt jabbed him, and his smile broadened. Armor straps could be so tricky sometimes... He did hope that Sten would forget to check it in the morning...

XXX

Wynne and Nesrie were working frantically to keep the massive Kossith together and in one piece. Zevran ignored their task in favour of rifling through the bandits’ belongings. Since all of their opponents were dead, he felt that so long as he kept his ears perked and his weapons ready, that he was doing his job sufficiently. 

Apparently, Wynne didn’t feel the same and after Sten was sprawled and resting while they waited for the rest of the party to catch up. “Zevran, why didn’t you help?”

Sighing, he pushed himself up from the ground, and tossed aside a rather nice piece of armour. “I am not a healer, you are. Both of you were busy, someone had to keep watch, and these things -” gesturing at the bodies and separated goods, “were not going to sort themselves, hmn?”

“Well, you should have helped,” she was clearly cross with him, but the elderly mage usually was.

He wondered if she would believe they were nearly the same age. It might be amusing to try and convince her. Then again, he would hear new lectures - “a man your age should” and other worthless observations.

Instead he crossed his arms, leaning forward, a lascivious smile spreading over his features as he scanned her robed form up and down, “Oh? What is it you need help with, my darling Wynne? Freeing that magnificent and magical bosom of yours? A deft hand? Tchk, you only have but to ask!”

Nesrie came near, “Zev, that’s enough please. I’ve got a headache.”

Instantly he turned conciliatory, ignoring Wynne, and moved to his Warden’s side, the irritable huff of the old mage barely noticed, “What is it, _amante_?”

“My ears hurt and I’m drained, could we all just...sit quietly and not argue?” 

Wrapping an arm around her, Zevran pulled Nesrie to lean against him as they stood there. She flinched in surprise, likely because he didn’t generally touch her like that in front of others. Reaching out he rubbed at her temples with his other hand, forgetting that his fingers were bloody and left smeared fingerprints, but at least Nesrie’s fair face looked less pinched.

XXX

Their pallet was made extra comfortable and snug and warm with some of the tanned hides, fur still on them, that he had collected and treated. The cold of fall was upon them and while Zevran wasn’t _impervious_ to the cold, it didn’t bother him as much as he led others to believe. Mostly because it gave him an excuse to grab Nesrie and pull her under his cloak at any and all opportunities. 

When Nesrie came in, she was quieter than usual, shivering, and he reached out to remove the barriers between them. 

“No, Zevran,” murmured as she pulled away.

Frowning, “‘No’? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“It means ‘no’.” Nesrie gathered up a couple of the blankets, double-folding them into a thin pallet for herself as he watched, his irritation mounting. “Tomorrow night, you should probably set up your own tent.”

The air seemed to rush out of the tent. It was a struggle suddenly to not snarl, to not allow his expression to darken. To not grab Nesrie and shake her until she told him what brought on such a decision. However none of that would get him the information he required.

Drawing a deep breath, “And why should I do such a thing? And why are you setting a separate pallet, come now, _amante_ , there is no need for that. It is too cold for your delicate frame.” Patting the space beside him, “At least come sleep where it is warm and comfortable, there is no reason to separate things so rapidly.”

“We distract each other too much,” Nesrie sat, but refused to come closer. “I didn’t notice it, but I’ve been too focused on this. And so have you. We’re at war with the darkspawn, no one can afford us not having our heads firmly affixed to that. There’s things more important than sex.”

Shifting to sit up fully, Zevran felt the frown tugging at his mouth and he didn’t bother halting it. “And who said we distract each other, _amante_? What proof is there that that is how it is? Have we avoided battles or tasks to further reach the goal of ending the Blight? Of gathering support and armies?” He waved a hand at the tent, encompassing the bedroll and the activities that occurred there - things _other_ than ‘just sex’. “This is a respite. After working hard all day, do you forego sleep, simply because there is more work to be done? And what of the consequences of not taking rest? Certainly you could work without sleep for a time. But it would not take long for your body to fail you, your mind and reactions first, then your body itself. Rest is needed to continue to work. Rest is not just for the body, _mi cielo_ , but for the mind. You smile so rarely, you relax and allow yourself to be replenished only when it is pressed to you. Our times together are part of that. Making you laugh by any means available, this too is something that allows you to rest.”

Her blue eyes were fixated on him as he spoke, head cocked, the multitude of plaits he put in her hair chiming softly with the little bone and stone baubles he had woven into it. “You seem to only think about sex.”

“Do I?” A brow lifted as he testily explained, “I was born in a whorehouse, you Fereldens are so tight-laced that the easiest way to garner a laugh is to be outrageous and pluck and pick at your taboos. Do I use sex and sexual parody to gain laughter? Of course I do, _amante_. It would be stupid to not use the tools near to hand simply because they are repetitive if they still work! And there is one thing I am not - stupid. And so I use the methods that continue to work, until those around me grow up enough or expand enough to require a change of methods.” Dismissive, “Besides, sex is pleasurable, sex grants relief and release, and it has _never_ interfered with my completing a contract.”

“That’s the only reason you act like that?”

No, it wasn’t. Nesrie often gained more information than he intended. Yet as annoying as it was to reveal more than planned, so long as it stayed with just her, it wasn’t something he completely abhorred. It merely grated on his nerves professionally. 

Heaving a sigh, “In part. And in part it is to keep others from looking too deeply. In my profession it is best that people see what they expect to see. To dismiss me so they do not see the poison put into their cup, the garrotte being readied to loop around their neck, or the knife aiming for their back. For the target to be unaware and be dealt with quickly, they must not expect the strike. This spares them undue suffering. And for those around them, it keeps them from noticing _my_ presence as a possible culprit for the demise of the target. My life and relative freedom has depended on such things for nearly all of my life. _That_ is why I ‘act like that’ as you so eloquently put it.”

Nesrie scooted closer and onto the bedroll. “It’s all a game.”

“Camouflage, blending in, _bonita_. I would hope you had seen that there was more to me than that,” and that was the crux of his irritation he realized as he said it. “I had been under the impression that you were not someone to pigeonhole another.”

“I’m sorry Zevran,” Nesrie reached out, her slim arms pulling him in rather surprisingly, as it was almost always him who reached out. “I didn’t think of any of that. Wynne just got me thinking...”

He should have realized it was Wynne’s doing, sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. That would have to be taken care of. Later, when he wasn’t so irritable and likely to do real damage that cut down the amount of mages with access to healing spells. At least Morrigan was one person he could depend upon to not be truly irritating or get in his way.

XXX

It took little convincing that she needed to get away from Ferelden. That the Crows had to be dealt and spoken with in person, on their own terms. With that, they left Ferelden once Urthemiel was slain, Wynne having given up the ghost so to speak from overtaxing her spirit - the frequent pulling upon the devilish thing because Zevran was always certain to require her pulling on its power, Alistair on a throne he didn’t want, Morrigan pregnant, Loghain dead, Sten off on his merry ship to his Blighted jungles... Leliana off to some Chantry task or other. He didn’t particularly care about any of it - they were out of the way, leaving he and Nesrie in peace.

He was careful to make sure that anyone who would seek to get in between he and Nesrie would be dealt with. That meant the Crows as well. If he had to become Guildmaster and tackle that task, so be it. He would run a tight ship, and Nesrie would be carefully sheltered, while also being held as a threat to any who dissented. She was his, he was hers, and nothing would separate them.


End file.
